The echo of footsteps slowly faded down the marble hallway as the priest disappeared around the corner, leaving behind a silence that clung to the air like dust in sunlight.
Seraphine stood still beside Elric, her lips parted slightly, her mind racing like a runaway cart. Her heart thumped as if it had remembered something her brain had not yet caught up with.
Wait… wasn't I just— Her breath hitched.
It all came rushing back like a wave slapping her in the face:
A bed draped in silk sheets, a canopy that shimmered gold, her hands gripping unfamiliar fabric as she jolted awake. That was her first moment in this world. Her first breath as Seraphine Evandale. Her first real memory after the accident.
She hadn't just taken over a body—Seraphine had been alive. Still was. Lurking somewhere inside her. Watching? Sleeping? Trapped?
A chill danced down her spine.
"Holy crap," she whispered.
"My lady?" Elric turned to her, brows slightly furrowed in concern. "Are you alright?"
Seraphine blinked at him, pulling herself back to the present. The sun filtered through the tall stained-glass windows of the corridor, casting soft red and blue hues on the stone floor. She was in a castle. A literal castle.
And beside her stood her personal assistant, Elric—loyal, sharp-eyed, and apparently way too used to her "odd behavior."
"Who…" she muttered, rubbing her temple, "Who was that priest again?"
Elric straightened. "The same one who always visits, my lady. He warns you about your actions constantly. You… strongly dislike him."
Sera narrowed her eyes. "That's it?"
"Yes, my lady. That's… all."
She stared at the corner the priest had vanished behind, her jaw tightening. That didn't sit right.
Why had she felt so furious just now? Not annoyed. Not irritated. But a boiling kind of rage, like she'd seen her worst enemy walk by.
"And when I saw him…" she murmured, "I felt like throwing a book at his face…"
"A book?" Elric repeated, mildly alarmed.
"Or a chair. Maybe a table."
She paced in a circle, tugging at the sleeves of her gown, muttering to herself. "I changed back then. When I saw him. Even the way I spoke… It was like I was her. Like the real Seraphine shoved me aside for a second just to glare at him."
She groaned and flopped dramatically onto the nearest cushioned bench like a dying swan, earning a stiff, awkward cough from Elric.
"Do I… need to call someone?" he asked.
"No. Unless you know a good therapist-slash-exorcist."
They sat in silence for a moment. Sera stared at the high ceiling. Elric looked deeply uncomfortable.
Then, without thinking, Sera muttered under her breath, "He's a human trafficker."
Elric's head slowly turned. "My… my lady?" he said, voice tight. "Did you just say… human—"
"I DON'T KNOW," she blurted out, flailing her arms. "It just came out of my mouth, okay?! Like it wasn't even mine!"
Both of them sat frozen.
Then Elric said, voice low and serious, "Should I… conduct a deeper background check, my lady?"
Sera clutched her chest like she'd been knighted. "Oh my god, you can do that? Yes. Yes. Go full spy mode, Elric. I need dirt. Secrets. Skeletons in his closet. Literally if you find any."
Elric gave a small bow. "As you command."
As he walked off, Sera whispered to herself, "What if she knows something? What if the real Seraphine isn't just some angry duchess with a superiority complex but actually—ugh."
She rubbed her temples.
The emotions. The instincts. The words slipping out of her mouth that she hadn't even thought of.
It was like two minds tangled in one.
And only one of them had all the answers.
The grand dining hall of the Evandale estate was bathed in the gentle gold of twilight, casting warm hues across the polished stone floors and the velvet-lined walls. Long banners in the family crest—silver roses entwined around a red sword—hung between the tall arched windows. A single, grand chandelier above sparkled with hundreds of tiny crystals, casting flickering lights down on the impossibly long oak table that ran down the center of the room.
Seraphine sat at the head of it.
Well, slumped more than sat. Her ruby-red gown with cascading sleeves and golden embroidery bunched awkwardly around her waist. She had taken off her heels under the table, and one leg was tucked up unladylike on her chair. A silver fork dangled between her fingers as she lazily poked a piece of roasted duck.
"Ugh," she groaned.
This wasn't just any fancy dinner table. This was her fancy dinner table. Yet here she was, unable to enjoy a single bite.
Not because of the corset strangling her ribs—though that was a crime.
But because she couldn't stop thinking.
I changed, she thought, staring at the gold-rimmed plate. When I saw the priest... I wasn't me. I was her. The real Seraphine.
That memory kept playing in her head, like an echo she couldn't shake. That sudden, cold fury. The cruel smirk. The sharp, terrifying words. It wasn't just her being dramatic—she had felt it.
What triggered it?
Emotion.
That much she could piece together. First, her parents. Then the priest. When she felt something strong enough—pain, fury, disgust—something inside her snapped, and the "real" Seraphine pushed through.
She leaned back in her chair, letting out a long, theatrical sigh. "And I thought the worst thing I'd suffer in this world was a hundred pounds of dress and no pizza."
The door creaked open.
Elric entered, dressed in his usual crisp black vest, white undershirt, and fitted trousers. His glasses sat perfectly straight on his nose, and as always, his expression was unreadable. Ever the model of a perfect assistant.
He stopped beside her chair and bowed slightly.
"My lady," he said. "You were right. The priest... he is a human trafficker."
Sera's fork clattered against her plate.
She blinked. "Wait. For real? That was fast."
Elric allowed himself the tiniest smile. "I am not only your assistant, my lady. Acquiring information is quite... easy for me."
He placed a folded parchment on the table beside her.
"He has been using his position in the Church to funnel orphans out of the sanctuaries. Discreetly. He sells them to remote estates and traveling nobles."
Sera's lips parted. So it wasn't just instinct. The real Seraphine really did hate him. For good reason.
But then she frowned. Still... "If she hated him for that, why did she do this to her own maids? Cut one's hands off? Everyone walks around me like I'm a loaded crossbow... there must be more to this."
She crossed her arms and leaned back in the velvet-lined chair, staring up at the chandelier.
Then she smirked.
"Since I'm a duchess," she said, voice rising with mischief, "and apparently can do anything I want, what if... I acted like a heroine for once?"
Elric turned his head. "...A heroine, my lady?"
"Yes! What if I punish the priest and uncover everything about him and his little trafficking scheme? And maybe," she added, eyes twinkling, "find out why the old Seraphine hated him so much."
Elric raised a brow. "I assume there will be no tea thrown this time?"
"No promises," Sera grinned.
Then she stood, her red dress flowing behind her like liquid fire. She looked positively regal, aside from the fact she was barefoot under the table.
"Elric. Tomorrow. We're going to church."
She laughed. Not a polite, dainty noblewoman's laugh, but a full-bellied, mischievous, Lisa-from-another-world kind of laugh.
Elric blinked, watching her like she had grown a second head.
She laughs like a peasant, he thought with mild horror.
But then, just for a second, a memory flashed behind his eyes. The cold, piercing red stare. The old Seraphine, poised like a queen, eyes like razors, lips curled in a sneer.
He looked back at the girl before him, all bright energy and chaos.
He adjusted his glasses and gave a rare smirk.
It's either you really have a split personality, my lady... or what you said about reincarnation... is true.